


Ten Days (Or, That Time They Both Got Quarantined)

by skylarkblue



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Kirk and Spock get a space flu, M/M, Major Illness, Mutual Pining, Protective Spock (Star Trek), Quarantine, Sharing a Bed, Spooning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23184106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skylarkblue/pseuds/skylarkblue
Summary: Kirk and Spock are beamed back aboard the Enterprise to discover they've both contracted the same alien pathogen. It's contagious, it's dangerous, and if they're not careful, it'll spread through the whole ship.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 46
Kudos: 243





	1. Chapter 1

The air seemed to shimmer for a moment as they beamed back on board the Enterprise.

“Well,” Jim turned to Spock, thinking longingly of his shower. “That wasn’t so bad, was-”

MEDICAL ALERT, suddenly blared from above, and the transporter pad seemed to lock them in place. Jim froze - no, he was unable to move anyway - and stared wide-eyed at the Vulcan beside him, mouthing what the fuck? as the lights flashed red around them and people began running from the room. PATHOGEN DETECTED. MEDICAL ALERT. INITIALISE FORCE FIELD. MEDICAL ALERT.

“What’s going on?” Jim yelled to be heard over the alert, but Spock was glaring at the transporter, pointed ears apparently not paying him any attention. “Spock! Why can’t we move?”

“If I had to guess, Captain,” Spock said drily, “Chekov has succeeded in producing the transporter’s force field capability, and that is what is holding us in place.”

“You’ve both scanned positive for something,” Bones shouted as he walked in, zipping up the full-body suit he was wearing. His face was covered by a mask that covered his eyes as well. It muffled his voice, but Jim could still understand him, even over the unending alarm going off above them. Bones gestured to the cadet who manned the station. She had pulled the front of her shirt up to cover her mouth and nose, and was watching them with wide eyes, keeping her distance. She hit a few buttons and the alert stopped, but the red lights remained.

“Permission to leave, sir?” she asked, but it was directed to Bones, not Jim or Spock. He nodded, stepping towards the transporter pad with a tricorder in hand. The cadet ran from the room, following the others who had already made their way out. They were gathered in the hall on the other side, craning to get a peek at what was going on inside before the door sealed itself again.

“What’s going on?” Jim demanded again. Spock still hadn’t said anything, was just standing there with a dumbstruck look on his face and a faintly green tinge to his cheeks. Bones was scanning him slowly, looking at the readings with a frown.

“Patience, Captain,” Spock finally spoke as Bones turned the tricorder on Jim. “I believe the doctor must clear us before we can enter the ship.”

“Damn right,” Bones said. “Unfortunately, that ain’t happening.”

“Bones,” Jim complained, right as Spock said, “What are your orders, Dr McCoy?”

Bones was focused on the tricorder, grimacing. He reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out two facemasks, handing them one each. Spock accepted his without complaint, pulling the loops over his pointed ears and looking over, the lower half of his face covered entirely. Jim put his on begrudgingly, hating the feeling of not being in control. He was about two seconds off ripping the tricorder out of McCoy’s hands and looking at the readings himself, but he waited, adjusting his mask so it covered his nose properly.

“Alright,” Bones said. “Keep those on for now. You’re both going into quarantine.”

“Excuse me?” Jim asked. “What the hell is going on?”

“The transporter scanned you both as you beamed in,” Bones looked between them. “And while you were down there, you’ve both contracted a virus. A pretty nasty one, based on the scans. You’re asymptomatic now, but that’s going to change in a few short hours. We’ve got to get you both into isolation, away from the rest of the crew.”

“I feel fine,” Jim said, but now that Bones had mentioned it, he could feel his face heating up, his throat getting scratchy. “Can’t you just hit us with a hypo and be done with it?”

“You must be concerned,” Spock said, “if you would willingly be subjected to a hypospray.”

And well, yeah, he wasn’t wrong. Jim was concerned - concerned enough he’d let Bones stick him like a goddamn voodoo doll if it meant he could get _off_ this transporter and back onto the bridge as soon as possible. 

“Afraid not, kid,” Bones gave him a pitying look. “This is the kind of virus your body has to burn out itself. It’s a mutation of one we see on Earth a lot, and there’s drugs for that, treatments, but this - I don’t think there’s anything we can do but let your immune systems do their jobs. We’ve got to quarantine you while that happens, though. It’s contagious, and the last thing I need is this whole damn ship coming down with this.”

What is the point, Jim thought, of modern medicine if it couldn’t fix a little alien virus.

Bones was fiddling with the transporter controls, and after a moment the pad released them. Jim stepped off it, followed closely by Spock, and resisted the urge to fiddle with his mask. Bones led them out of the room and down the hall to the turbolift. The crew had made themselves scarce, except the young cadet who had turned off the alert, who stood to the side. “I’ll decontaminate the transporter, sir,” she addressed Bones again, and damn if Jim didn’t find that annoying, but he knew when it came to medical emergencies, the whole ship deferred to the CMO.

This didn’t feel like a medical emergency, though. Jim felt fine. Spock looked a little flushed in the face, but also, otherwise, fine. This seemed like a vast overreaction to a little space bug.

“We’ll stick you in the empty quarters near medical,” Bones said, hitting the button to take them down to medical. “You should both be fine without any medical intervention, but I’ll keep you close by just in case.”

“Okay,” Jim replied, questions overwhelming his mind. How long would he be isolated for? What would he do with all that time? Was he allowed his PADD? A board game or two? Who was going to run the ship?

They walked off the lift single file, Spock unusually quiet the entire time. Bones stopped outside a door and waited for it to open. When it did, they stepped inside, finding a mostly bare room with two beds, a viewscreen, and a little kitchenette with a replicator. Jim knew his ship inside out, and knew this room was used to isolate patients who couldn’t be kept in medical for whatever reason. He also knew this room had never been used, because there had never been any need, and it was the only room of its kind on board, which meant…

“Wait,” he said, as Spock said a very concerned sounding “Doctor,” and they stopped and stared at each other for a moment. Jim continued on. “Are we in isolation together?”

“You betcha,” Bones said, and he stepped out of the room, locking the door behind him. His voice came from somewhere above them. “You boys play nice, now. You’re gonna be in there together for ten days.”

“Ten days?” Jim said, whacking the door with a fist. “Bones, you bastard! I’m not staying in here for ten days!”

“Sorry, Captain.” Bones did not sound sorry at all, made even more insincere by his use of captain. “Doctor’s orders.”

Jim and Spock shot each other withering looks, Jim’s fists still clenched. Spock, after a moment, wandered over to one of the beds and sat gingerly on the edge, removing his mask and placing it on the bedside table. He still looked a little green in the face. Jim closed his eyes, asking whatever god was listening what he’d done to deserve this. He and Spock hadn’t been on the best of terms lately, with all the frustration about the diplomatic mission down on Salend VI, and the way they butted heads constantly. They respected each other, but they never seemed to agree on anything, him and Spock.

And now they were quarantined, Jim thought. Oh my god, they were quarantined.


	2. Chapter 2

Their first evening in quarantine was a quiet one. Spock sat cross-legged on his bed and spent most of it meditating, leaving Jim without much to do. So, he did what any self-respecting boy would do when faced with utter boredom and a possible medical emergency: he called his momma.

“Hey, kiddo,” Winona’s face filled the viewscreen for a moment before she stepped back and gave him a good look at her. Her blonde hair had more than a few streaks of grey in it, now, but she had it pulled off her face in a loose, messy bun, her blue eyes twinkling at him. “Heard you got yourself quarantined for the next few days. Sucks to be you, huh?”

“Sure does,” Jim replied, folding his arms over his chest. He’d stopped wondering how Winona always knew everything about what was going on in Starfleet; his mother was a more reliable source of information than most of the official channels. Her knowing he was sick wasn’t surprising. Maybe it was as simple as Bones having notified her, as his next of kin. Maybe there was something nefarious afoot. He wouldn’t put it past her either way. 

“So you’re stuck in isolation with that cute first officer of yours,” Winona said, and then she noticed Spock sitting behind Jim, his eyes closed. One of his brows had twitched upwards at her remark, and Winona looked down at her son with a smirk. “Hi, Spock,” she said.

The Vulcan opened his eyes for a moment, gave her a nod, and then closed them again, apparently returning to his meditative state. Jim flushed red and glared at his mother, who was smiling sweetly through the screen.

“Mom,” he began, ready to admonish her for calling his first officer cute, but he was cut off by a beeping sound from her end. She looked down, away from him, and swore under her breath.

“Listen, Jimmy, it’s been good talking to you, but I’ve gotta run,” Winona looked at him with soft eyes for a moment. “I love you. Call more often. Bye,”

“Bye, Mom,” Jim said, right before the call disconnected. He sighed, left with little else to do. He launched himself at his bed with a dramatic flop and looked over to Spock, who was still pretending to meditate, even though Jim could tell he’d long since given up on it. They’d both started coughing in the past couple of hours, but so far it didn’t seem like anything too bad. Spock’s breathing was a little rougher than usual - not that Jim, like, particularly  _ paid attention _ to the way his first officer was breathing, it was just something he’d  _ noticed _ . Spock was breathing like it was a chore, not a natural-born instinct.

“Your mother,” Spock said, without opening his eyes, “is most illogical.”

“Don’t I know it,” Jim replied, rolling onto his side so he could see Spock properly. There was tension simmering between them still, but Spock seemed to be of the opinion that if they were going to be stuck together for ten days, they weren’t going to argue about Starfleet business, which was fine by Jim. “Do you think Sulu’s doing okay?”

“I am sure Lieutenant Sulu is managing the ship perfectly fine, Captain,” Spock replied hoarsely, finally looking at Jim. His skin was paler than usual, and he was starting to look a bit peaky. He coughed into his elbow, twisting his body so he was facing away from Jim, before leaning back against the wall. The virus seemed to be hitting him harder than it was hitting Jim, and he looked about as miserable as Jim felt.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right,” Jim replied. He bounced his knee for a moment, then groaned and said, “Kirk to the bridge.”

“Yes, Captain?” Sulu’s voice responded.

“Everything okay?”

“Everything is exactly the same as the last four times you asked, Captain.”

“Just checking.”

The corner of Spock’s mouth twitched up, like he was about to smile but thought better of it. Jim looked over at him with a smile of his own. “How long do you think it’ll take them to switch off communications?”

“If you continue to bother them, I believe it will happen shortly.” Spock coughed again, harder this time, and for a moment it looked like he was going to black out. Jim shot up, reaching out to steady him. Spock pushed him away, still coughing, but managed to get out, “I am fine, Captain.”

“You’re burning up,” Jim said, pressing his hand against Spock’s forehead. He pulled the blanket off the end of Spock’s bed and wrapped it around the Vulcan’s shoulders. Spock didn’t push him away, though he looked like he wanted to, and instead settled back against the wall with the blanket.

“I do not know how you are still standing,” Spock said. “To use a turn of phrase my mother would often employ when sick, I feel as though I have been hit by a truck.”

Jim shrugged, because honestly, outside of the coughing and the overall feeling of malaise, he was fine. He thought this was a massive overreaction on the doctor’s part, but Bones was stubborn, damn it, and also the only person on this ship who could order Jim around. The two of them sat there in a companionable silence for several moments, Spock pulling the blanket so it was closer around him, Jim staring at the floor. There was a tickle in his throat that hadn’t quite worked its way up to a cough yet, and he pulled a face, swallowing hard and trying to will it away.

The door opened and both men looked up, grabbing their masks and pulling them on. Bones walked in dressed in his suit and mask, covered completely from any risk of contamination. Jim tugged his mask down so it wasn’t covering his face; Bones had already told them if he was in the suit they didn’t need them. In his arms were two large boxes that he deposited on the table before coming over to fuss over Spock.

“Your temperature is climbing,” Bones said, looking down at the wand he’d waved over Spock’s forehead. “You should be laying down, getting plenty of rest and fluids. You’re both drinking enough water, right?”

“Yes,” Jim said, picking up his drink bottle and waving it at Bones. The doctor snorted and shook his head.

“You’ve got to drink at least three of those every twenty-four hours,” he said. Jim wrinkled his nose. That much?

“What’s in the boxes?” Jim asked. Spock accepted the hypospray Bones put to his neck without complaint.

“Go and have a look for yourself,” Bones said, continuing to fuss over the sick Vulcan. Jim got up and wandered over, grabbing the box closest to him. Inside were a stack of clean clothes, his pyjamas, a chess set, his PADD, and a couple of books. He grinned and looked to the other box, where, sure enough, was Spock’s clothing, pyjamas, PADD, and a few books, and what appeared to be some kind of small harp. There was more in the bottom of each box, but Jim couldn’t quite see it, so he left them be, grabbing both PADDs and passing Spock’s over to him before flopping back onto his bed.

McCoy was over to bother him next, taking his temperature, checking his pulse and breathing, and looking him over with a careful, critical eye. It was weird to feel his gloved hand reach for Jim’s wrist to check his pulse the old-fashioned way, but he was apparently satisfied once he’d done so, sitting on the end of Jim’s bed. In his plague doctor suit, as Jim affectionately called it, he was relatively safe from the risk of transmission, so when he came in to check their vitals he’d stop and chat for a moment.

“I want both of you to eat something good tonight,” he loaded up the hypospray again and pressed it against Jim’s neck before he even had a chance to protest. It was a low dose of something to bring down a fever, even though Jim wasn’t feeling feverish - not anywhere near as feverish as Spock, anyway. “Actually, I want you both to have soup.”

“Is that your official prescription, doctor?” Jim joked, but Bones was looking at him with a serious expression.

“Yes, it is.” Bones glanced at the time on Jim’s PADD and sighed. “I’ve got to get going. I want you two resting as much as possible, and I need you to actually eat, okay?”

“Sure,” Jim replied.

“I will ensure we both have the required sustenance, doctor,” Spock said. Bones gave them both a rare smile and left with the familiar sound of the doors sealing shut behind him. There was no way for anyone else to get in, and there sure as hell was no override for Jim and Spock to get out.

“I’ll do dinner,” Jim said, rolling off the bed, eager for something to do. He replicated them each a bowl of soup, just as Bones had asked - plomeek for Spock, chicken noodle for Jim. Spock accepted the warm bowl gratefully and used the spoon Jim handed him to sip at it, his hands wrapped around the bowl like he could leech the warmth from it. Jim sat opposite him on his own bed, taking a mouthful of the chicken soup and swallowing the warm broth. They chatted quietly, the reality still not having quite sunk in. Day one was almost over, but they still had nine more days of this, of being trapped in this room together, feeling awful and with little in the way of distractions. Sure, thanks to Bones they had their PADDs now, and some books, but the hours stretched long between waking and sleeping again.

When they finished their soups, Jim returned the bowls to the kitchenette. He reached into his box and grabbed the chess set, but when he turned around, he found Spock curled up on his bed, his blanket haphazardly pulled across him, snoring softly. Jim’s face fell for a moment as he returned the chessboard to the box, but then turned to a smile as he watched his first officer sleep. He reached over and quietly adjusted Spock’s blanket so it covered him properly, picking up the abandoned PADD from beside his pillow and placing it on the bedside table.

“Computer,” Jim said quietly, so as not to wake Spock, “Lights off.”

The room dimmed to almost total darkness and Jim laid down on his own bed, rolling over and getting comfortable. In the dimmest light that remained, he watched the rise and fall of Spock’s chest, the rhythm of it lulling him to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Spock wandered over with a mug of tea in each hand. He passed one over to Jim, who sipped at it appreciatively and nodded, smiling to himself. It was warm tea - something like earth's chamomile, but sweeter - with honey. The honey soothed his aching throat and left the hint of its sweetness on his lips. Spock sipped at his tea quietly, seeming pleased with whatever was in his mug. Jim knew it wasn't the same thing, because the smell wafting over from Spock's mug was something different entirely - not sweet with honey, but almost earthy. The smell of damp dirt after rain. This, their second day in isolation, had been a long one so far. They had spent most of the morning reading and in quiet conversation, both feeling too under the weather for anything else. Spock's cough seemed to have gotten worse, a dry, hacking cough that made the hair on Jim's arm stand on end, because it did not sound like the sort of noise anything could produce and continue living. Spock had been reading a well-read copy of  _ Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland _ , thumbing through the ancient pages with care. Jim had a copy of  _ Little Women _ he was still trying to work his way through, because although he enjoyed classic literature, he found with his persistent headache that reading was not the easiest thing to do. He had yet to mention the headache to Bones - it would just mean another hypo, and that was the last thing he wanted right now.

Spock set his tea aside and got up, stretching. He cleared his throat and looked over to the boxes that contained their things.

"Could I interest you in a game of chess, Captain?" he asked, smoothing down his shirt. Jim grinned, eager for the challenge that playing against the Vulcan would offer him. 

"Only if you plan to lose," he said with a smirk, setting his mug aside as well. Spock collected the board and all its pieces, placing it down on the bedside table between their beds and arranging the pawns in place. Jim took the other pieces and placed them as well, readying the board so they could play. It was something he and Spock had taken to over the past few months aboard the Enterprise. Though they didn't play anywhere near as often as Jim would like, they played enough that he had come to appreciate it, these moments with Spock. His first officer had a keen scientific mind, and a deep intellect that made him a formidable player in many games. He wasn't half bad at poker, either, as Jim's wallet could attest after more than a game or two. It was Chekov who always seemed to win those nights, though - that kid had a damn good sense for gambling.

"Your move, Captain," Spock said, gesturing to the board. Jim grinned and reached for a pawn, then reconsidered his move and moved a different piece instead. Spock's mouth twitched, but his expression did not betray his thoughts. Jim appreciated Spock's face as the Vulcan considered the board. He had smooth skin, elegantly arched brows, and deep, dark eyes that glimmered with a sharp intensity. Spock made his move. Jim would swear that there was a grin hiding on his first officer's face, beneath the smooth facade. They played on for a while, stealing each other's pieces in silence, not feeling the need to speak. It was a quick game, Spock stealing away Jim's king in moments. With a quick huff of a laugh, Jim reset the board, ready for round two.

Jim considered the board, where Spock had placed his last pawn. There were a few moves he could make, but none seemed like it would give him the advantage. Of course, that wasn't what chess was about - it wasn't about defeating someone in as few moves as possible, despite what some may think. For Jim Kirk, it was an exercise of the mind, something that gave him an intellectual workout, and there was no better opponent than his first officer, because Spock played with the ferocity of a sehlat. He didn't go easy - ever - and he only focused on the best possible game, with endless strategies and logical moves, and Jim knew that each move he made carried all the weight of his mind behind it. It gave him plenty to think about, and at times he thought it brought out Spock's less logical side - the more they played together, the more they seemed to challenge each other and in many ways that was a perfect allegory for their relationship. Their chess matches showed how Jim's forward thinking and emotional responses brought out Spock's logical and careful mind, and how they brought out those opposite qualities in each other. Jim pondered the board for a moment, and then moved his rook.

"Was that a wise move, Captain?" Spock asked. Jim would swear he saw a smirk on that mouth.

"You tell me, Spock," Jim said, licking his lips. Spock reached for his queen, paused, and then moved his knight instead. Jim realised what he was doing - he was drawing out the game, even though there were definitely at least two moves he could have made that would have left Jim's king wide open. He didn't mind, though. If anything, it meant he had to think smarter.

Jim leaned against his fist and smiled at Spock, taking in the view for just a moment. His mother was right - he did have a cute first officer, but those thoughts led him astray, and it was against like a million Starfleet regulations. Still, it didn't stop him from thinking them, and these days in isolation were only adding fuel to the fire that was his crush. That's all it was, he kept telling himself. A schoolboy's crush, and nothing more, because the idea that Spock could feel that same way - well, it was an impossibility, wasn't it? It would never happen.

That's what he kept telling himself, anyway, because in truth, Jim Kirk was afraid. Afraid he could go there, afraid of being knocked back if he did. The idea that he liked Spock, he’d long come to terms with that. The idea that Spock liked him back?

An impossibility.

Kirk cleared his throat, bringing one hand up to touch it with a light touch brush of his fingers, annoyed by the persistent scratch deep in his throat. "I wanted to talk to you," he told Spock as he made his next move.

"Yes, Captain?" Spock asked, feigning innocence.

"On our mission. You stepped in when I didn’t need you to. You ignored a direct order," Jim frowned.

"I did not ignore it," Spock replied coolly, taking one of Jim's pawns.

Jim felt a flash of anger. “You did. I was handling things, and you just marched up and took over. I didn’t need help, Spock. I had everything under control.”

“You were bartering with them,” Spock said, tapping the board with his forefinger. Jim moved his knight. “If you had bothered to read the dossier on Seland VI, you would have known that the Selandites find such behaviour to be an insult, Captain. I was merely trying to save you from any wrath you may have incurred.”

Jim’s frown deepened. “I wasn’t bartering with them! I was trying to get us that coil before they sold it. We may have been there for diplomatic reasons, Spock, but we had to get the parts for the ship, too.”

“You were bartering,” Spock said with a sense of finality. “It is done. We made it back aboard the ship without issue. Except, of course, the matter of this quarantine.”

“I wasn’t bartering,” Jim muttered, eyeing off Spock’s queen. He went to make a move and then found himself feeling as though the air had been pulled straight from his lungs. He paused for a moment to cough, closing his eyes as the room spun. He took in a deep, steadying breath, feeling his mind clear after a few seconds. His throat was so sore. Jim reached for what remained of his tea and sipped at it, the honey soothing his throat for just a second. It was better than not at all. “I’m fine,” Jim coughed again, waving off Spock, who had stood, leaning over him with concern. Spock paused and stepped away, reaching for Jim’s blanket and handing it to him, disappearing for a moment into the kitchenette.

He returned with a fresh steaming mug of tea, stronger this time, with more honey. Jim took a long drink from the mug, letting the warm liquid wash down his throat and soothe the ache. Spock’s expression seemed neutral, but Jim could practically feel the concern radiating off him. He really was fine - the virus just seemed to have really hit his respiratory system this time. 

“Thank you,” Jim said, sipping at it slowly. “I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Spock replied, sitting across from him and returning to their game.

“I wasn’t bartering," Jim insisted.

Spock looked at him with something that might have been affection, or amusement. “Whatever you say, Captain.”


	4. Chapter 4

Jim wandered out of the shower, towel-drying his hair. The steam had cleared his lungs somewhat and left him feeling refreshed, his skin red from the heat. He looked at his reflection for a moment, considered his reddened skin, the map of freckles and moles that dotted his body like flecks from an artist’s brush, the light scars from injuries that hadn’t needed a tissue regenerator. His favourite was the little white stripe of flesh on his neck, gained in a bar fight when he was twenty and looking for something to hurt him. He towelled himself off properly and reached for his pyjamas, a long-sleeved black shirt and grey sweatpants, and pulled them on, rolling up the sleeves. He stepped out of the bathroom quietly, so as not to wake Spock, but he instead found the Vulcan wide awake, shivering as though the room was subzero.

“Spock?” he asked, crossing the room in a few strides. “What’s the matter?”

“C-cold,” Spock stammered, his teeth chattering. They’d both had chills on and off all day, but they seemed to be really affecting Spock now, leaving him shivering in his bed. Jim paused, and then leaned over, pushing Spock gently.

“Shove,” he said, sliding into bed beside Spock. Spock, shivering so hard he was shaking, obliged, leaving Jim with a just barely big enough gap to squeeze into. He curled up against Spock’s back, reaching over with one arm and pulling him close, embracing him with the warmth of his body, still hot from his shower.

“Is this going to work?” Spock asked, trembling.

“You’re cold,” Jim said, pulling the blanket over the both of them, making sure it was wrapped tight over Spock before letting the rest fall over himself. “You’re going to shove over so I can warm you up.”

“Is that an order, Captain?”

“Damn right,” Jim said, and he snuggled into Spock’s back, breathing deep and inhaling his warm scent. He wanted to pull him even closer, nuzzle his neck, murmur comforting things into his ear, but Spock’s coughing broke through his thoughts. Jim shook his head, as though he was shaking them away, and cuddled up to his first officer in a desperate attempt to keep him warm. Spock was still shivering violently, but having Jim at his back did warm him considerably, and slowly, after a while, the shivering stopped. Not completely - it would be naive to hope for that - but enough that he no longer felt like he was going to shake right out of his skin. There was something comforting about Jim’s presence. Spock closed his eyes, thinking for just a moment how good it was to have a Captain who literally had his back, before he opened them and rolled over just enough to look Jim in the eye.

“Captain,” he said.

“Spock.”

“It seems the chills have passed.”

Jim looked down at him with a heavy-lidded smile, sleepy from the warmth they shared. “It seems they have.”

Spock was silent for a moment, looking deep into the Captain’s bright eyes. A part of him wanted to reach out and touch his face, but he restrained himself, instead casting his eyes over Jim instead. He was cosy and warm in his pyjamas, and it made Spock want to get his own.

“I am going to have a shower,” Spock said, and Jim rolled straight off the bed, landing on the floor with a soft  _ ooft _ . He looked up at Spock, laughing, one hand on his chest, sprawled out on the floor without a care in the world.

“I meant for that to go better,” Jim chuckled. “I forgot it wasn’t a double.”

Spock found himself wanting to laugh, but he didn't, instead reaching down and grasping Jim's arm to pull him up. Jim was still chuckling to himself, but he accepted the help, letting Spock pull him to his knees and then using the bed to pull himself up the rest of the way. Spock got out of the bed and shivered, reaching inside the box to pull free his pyjamas. He left Jim - sweet, illogical Jim - laughing on the floor and went to the shower, pyjamas tucked under his arm.

While Spock was gone, Jim typed a quick message to Bones to let him know their symptoms - he was fine with not monitoring them daily as long as one of them kept him updated. He had left them with a hypospray full of a mild analgesic and something to keep their fevers low, and a small tricorder to keep track of their temperatures and basic bodily systems. It recorded everything and kept him updated in Sickbay, leaving the medical unit updated about their condition without anyone having to risk exposure or get in the plague doctor suit to check on them. Jim hit send and paused, thumbing through the apps on his PADD for a moment before deciding to pull up a movie. Tonight would have been the ship's movie night anyway, and some of the new holos coming out were pretty damn good. The entertainment industry had changed a lot over the past century, with science fiction a rapidly evolving genre. Sometimes it was fun to put on an old sci-fi movie and laugh at how the people of old had assumed things would go in the future, and marvel and just how many things they had gotten right in their guesses of what was to come. Jim scrolled through his options and settled on a favourite of his, a fantasy movie he'd enjoyed many times in his childhood.

Spock walked out of the bathroom, dressed in a Vulcan-style tunic and loose pants, running his fingers through his hair to get it to lay flat. He walked across the room at an easy pace, joining Jim on his bed and looking over his shoulder at the PADD. "What are you watching, Captain?" he asked, leaning against the wall and crossing his legs. Jim moved back so he was beside the Vulcan, tucking his legs up underneath himself and holding the PADD so they could both see it clearly. He hit play, and the soft opening theme of the film began to play. Spock didn't protest his choice in movie - in fact, Jim thought he saw a smile cross the Vulcan's face for just a moment - and the two men settled in to watch it, the PADD balanced precariously on Jim's knee.

“Have you seen this before?” Jim asked.

“My mother showed it to me, a long time ago.”

Jim found he didn’t quite know what to say to that, but he managed, “I hope watching it-?”

“It is fine, Captain,” Spock said. “It reminds me of the good times.”

They watched in silence, slowly becoming enthralled by the story playing out onscreen. The only interruptions were whenever one of them started coughing again, but that seemed to be dying down, at least somewhat after their respective showers. Spock still shivered occasionally, so Jim scooched closer to him, so their arms were against each other, their knees brushing. After a while of watching the film, Spock seemed to lean into him a little, and then a little more, and as they neared the end Jim realised he had fallen asleep when his head dropped onto Jim's shoulder. Spock snored softly, relaxed and peaceful, so rather than disturb him Jim grabbed a blanket from the end of the bed and threw it over them both, making sure his first officer stayed warm for fear his chills and fever would return. Jim looked down at Spock's sleeping face with a fond smile, knowing he would have to wake him soon, but not ready to do it just yet.


	5. Chapter 5

He awoke the next morning with a worsening cough. Jim's eyes snapped open and he inhaled sharply, keenly aware of how every breath he drew in felt like fire. His throat was sharp with a deep itch, his lungs felt like they were being dragged down his chest. He rolled onto his side and coughed harder, startling Spock awake.

"Captain," Spock said, his dark eyes opening wide. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Jim wheezed, taking in a deep breath and producing another hacking cough. He tried to sit up, propping himself up first with his elbows, before he straightened and sat upright. It seemed to ease the pressure on his chest a little and he took a few deep, steadying breaths, grateful for the sudden influx of oxygen. Spock was sitting up now too, looking like he was about to reach over before he thought better of it, but his hand hung there for a moment before he set it down. "I'm fine," Jim repeated, now that he could breathe again. He was aware of a stickiness over his skin, a clamminess the cool air of the temperature controlled room seemed to be giving him. He felt, at once, both too hot and too cold, but at least his breathing had eased. He wiped the sweat from his brow and stared down at his chest for a moment, rubbing his wrist against the side of his thigh. He had kicked off his blankets in the night, leaving him exposed, but it had done nothing to ease his fever. He realised he was burning up, much like Spock had been two days before.

"Keep still," Spock said, and Jim felt the familiar sting of a hypospray on his neck. He halfheartedly swatted the Vulcan away, rubbing at the smarting skin. Spock loaded the hypo with something else and lifted it, Jim side and turned his head to the side, exposing his neck so Spock could hit him with it again. It stung worse this time, and he sucked in a breath, hissing.

"What was that?" he asked, touching the tender skin.

"A mild analgesic, an antipyretic, and a dose of the antiviral Dr McCoy left us yesterday," Spock replied. He loaded up another cartridge and hit himself in the neck, as well. "It seems wise to do this now, while we remember."

Jim nodded, seeing the wisdom in getting it done, but damn if his neck didn't sting afterwards. He hated the hyposprays. Bones had left the antiviral for them to trial, though he was sure it wasn't going to work in any significant way; he had been right, this was something their immune systems had to work out for themselves. Still, it didn't hurt to try a dose, especially when they both felt fucking awful. Jim gave a miserable sigh.

"Are you alright?" Spock asked him, hovering by his bed. Jim nodded, drawing his knees to his chest and resting his head on them, looking over at the Vulcan with an unreadable expression. Spock set the hypospray down and walked over to the replicator, making Jim another cup of tea, and one for himself. He handed it over wordlessly, and Jim sipped at it, pulling a face and setting it aside after a moment. Something was leaving a strange taste in his mouth, almost salty, and it made the tea taste wrong. It turned his stomach and for a horrifying moment he felt like he was going to vomit, but after a few deep breaths the feeling passed, leaving him with his head on his knees and his eyes closed.

"Captain?" Spock asked, placing his mug down. "You are concerning me."

"I'm fine, Spock," Jim sighed, sliding downwards so he was laying on the bed again. Spock's eyebrow quirked upwards as he considered his captain.

"Should I call for Dr McCoy?" Spock asked, but Jim shook his head, knowing Bones would just worry himself into a fit for nothing.

"I really, really do promise I'm fine," he said, pulling his blanket back over himself. He was starting to get a chill, even though his skin was still burning hot. Jim felt restless, and he rolled over, trying to get comfortable, but he knew he was just going to toss and turn. "Spock," he said, and his first officer looked up, setting his book aside. "Do you want to play a round of chess?"

Spock nodded, straightening the board and arranging the pieces with care. Jim forced his body to sit up, leaning against the wall, letting it support him as he made his first move. Sitting upright proved to be a mistake, because a wave of dizziness washed over him not long after, and he sighed, closing his eyes again as his vision blurred. He could feel Spock level him with that intense stare he got when he knew something was wrong, but he ignored it, not wanting to worry Spock or Bones with it. This was probably just a normal part of the illness, Jim thought to himself. Bones had told him it would be like the worst cold he'd ever had, and so far, it seemed to be meeting all the marks of that. 

Jim blinked slowly, trying to clear his vision, which was darkening on the edges. Spock's stare had intensified now; he was almost glaring at Kirk, and looked like he was ready to reach over and push him down onto the bed. The Vulcan glanced towards his communicator, but Kirk shook his head, sighing. He grabbed a pawn and moved it, employing a move that they both knew he'd ordinarily never make. It seemed to alarm Spock, though his expression remained neutral as ever, aside from his eyebrows, which had come closer together in the middle as his brow furrowed and he frowned at his captain. "Jim," Spock said quietly, and Jim looked up, shaking his head. He wondered if he should be alarmed himself, that Spock was calling him by name. He decided to ignore it, rather than deal with the implications in that moment. 

"Spock," Jim closed his eyes. "Just leave it."

Spock looked down at the board and moved his rook, his mouth set in a thin, hard line. He looked like he was about to yell, or perhaps otherwise lose his cool, but he didn't, instead humouring Jim a little longer and continuing their game of chess. Jim could feel the pain in his temples ebbing away and figured the analgesic must have been working, however slowly. His head was spinning a little, but he ignored that too, ever the stubborn Iowa farmboy. Jim couldn't get the feeling to pass, so he closed his eyes for just a moment, coughing and trying to clear his throat. His chest felt like it was weighed down, like something was dragging the air in his lungs downwards, like it was a struggle for it to move and keep him breathing. There was a pain shooting across his ribs, especially the lower left hand side. He went to reach for it but hesitated, setting his hand down, knowing that Spock would immediately call Bones if he knew. Spock caught the movement anyway, and his frown deepened.

"Captain, are you experiencing pain?"

"No," Jim lied, trying not to rub at his side where the ache had settled beneath his ribcage. His breathing was slightly ragged but he pushed on, determined to keep up appearances, even though he knew it was fruitless where Spock was concerned. Spock could tell something was wrong, even if Jim was too damn stubborn to admit to it.

Spock let it slide, moving his queen. “Check,” he said. Jim considered the board, looking at each tier with as much focus as he could muster, before looking away.

“I concede,” he said quietly. Spock looked at him with a deepening frown, because it was not like Jim Kirk to simply give up during a chess match, it was not like him at all. Jim coughed again, wheezing in air as best he could, and turned away, resting his head against the knee he’d brought up to his chest. Spock shook his head, reaching for the tricorder and recording Jim’s temperature, taking note of the readings. He knew Bones would get them soon enough, and probably march in, dressed up in his plague suit, and hit him with another round of hypos. He didn’t want that, though - he just wanted to rest.

“Lay down,” Spock demanded, one hand on his shoulder, pushing him down. Jim listened for once in his life, because he felt too awful to resist. His head fell onto his pillow with a thump, and he allowed Spock to throw his blanket over him, shivering. Spock looked down at him with an expressionless face, but there was a glimmer of  _ something  _ in his eyes, like for a moment he was lost, afraid, unsure on what to do, which were never qualities Jim had seen in his first officer, not even after their worst away missions. The Vulcan barely looked up when Bones entered the room, staying by Jim’s side even as Bones began his poking and prodding. The medical officer swore under his breath and hit Jim with a hypo, and suddenly he could breathe easier. It no longer felt like he was suffocating on perfectly good air.

“I’m going to start coming in every six hours to administer this,” Bones said, using his tricorder to check Jim’s lungs. “He’s not - there’s nothing to indicate he’s experiencing complications. It’s just hitting him harder now.”

“I’m fine,” Jim insisted weakly, but he felt as though if he lifted his head he was going to black out again. Bones looked down at him with a  _ bitch, you ain’t fine _ expression, visible even through the mask, giving him a stiff “uh huh” as he checked something on the tricorder.

“Make sure he rests,” Bones told Spock seriously, clapping him on the back before he walked out of the room, grumbling to himself under his breath. Jim caught the phrases  _ stubborn asshat _ and  _ thinks he can survive anything,  _ and managed to smile to himself at the thought, because yeah, he was James Tiberius fucking Kirk and yeah, he could survive anything.

Spock returned a few moments later with something in his hands, sitting cross-legged on his bed across from Jim, watching him with a careful, steady gaze. His hands began moving slowly and a harmonious melody filled the room, each soft note played with care as Spock lovingly played his Vulcan lyre, an instrument Jim swore he knew the real name for, really, it was right at the tip of his tongue-

“Focus on the music,” Spock interrupted his thoughts. “It will help you sleep.”

Jim thought back to the first night of quarantine, where the music that had lulled him to sleep had been the steady rhythm of Spock’s breathing, but this, he thought, as his eyes drifted shut, this was good too. The melody was something oddly familiar, soft and haunting, something Jim had heard play somewhere else before, but before he could give it much thought, he found that it really was helping him relax, helping his mind slow down. His breathing slowed and he relaxed into his bed, eyes closed, his mind filled only with the sound of music.


	6. Chapter 6

Jim woke feeling vaguely like his whole body had been pummelled to hell and back again.

"How long was I out?" he rolled to his side to ask his first officer, but Spock wasn't there. He tried to ignore the panic that rose in his chest. "Spock?" he called out, sitting up in bed. He could breathe a little better again today; it no longer felt like his lungs were being dragged out of his body. But still, the whole point of his and Spock being in quarantine was they were in it together, and Spock seemed to be gone.

"Captain," Spock stepped out of the bathroom, wearing a black v-neck shirt and dark pants. The shirt exposed the white skin of his collarbones and Jim had to stop himself from staring, because the last thing he needed was his crush on his first officer becoming  _ obvious _ .

"Oh," Jim said, feeling silly for his moment of panic. But hey, he was entitled to it - he had almost died yesterday. Probably. It had fucking felt like it, anyway.

"I trust you are feeling better?" Spock asked him, taking a seat on his bed. Jim grinned, his eyes flicking from Spock's eyes to his just-exposed chest and back again.

"Much better. I don't know what was in the hypos, but they seem to have done the trick," Jim replied. He had a sneaking suspicion that the hyposprays were just masking his symptoms, but he felt better, and he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. There was still a pain in his head, low and throbbing, but it was nowhere near as bad as it had been the day before. Whatever it had been Bones had dosed him with had taken away the worst of his symptoms, enough so that he almost felt functional again, though at that moment his body betrayed him and he was struck by a coughing fit so hard he thought for a moment he was going to black out. “For fuck’s sake,” he wheezed, thumping himself on the chest. It seemed to help and he stopped, holding a hand up to stop the concerned Vulcan doing his hovering thing again.

Spock coughed delicately into the back of his hand, sounding nothing like he had just a few days ago, and certainly nothing like Jim. It was almost like the virus had burned through Spock in a matter of days, whereas for Jim it just seemed to be getting worse, though perhaps that was because Spock had strictly followed the doctor’s instructions to rest, keep his fluids up, and do his hypos every few hours, and Jim had...well, been Jim, and done those things  _ to the best of his ability _ , but perhaps not quite in a way that could be described as medically sound, even with Spock keeping a watchful eye on him.

Jim stood, feeling antsy. He hated being cooped up in this room, and no amount of books or chess could make him feel any less trapped. He was itching to get back up on the bridge, to get back in his chair and see the stars from the greatest vantage point in the universe, the captain's chair of the USS Enterprise. Spock was watching him with those dark eyes, silent and thoughtful. Jim paced the room for a bit, rambling about his frustration about being stuck, and Spock gave him the occasional affirmation, though it did little to help. Spock got up off the bed, going to retrieve one of his other books from the box, when the room seemed to shake a little bit.

Spock was standing almost exactly in the middle of the room, book in one hand, looking distractedly back at the chessboard like a move had just occurred to him even though they weren't playing. Jim straightened, going to speak, when suddenly the ship lurched and he found himself flying forwards, unable to stop, and fell right into his first officer's arms.

Spock caught him with ease, stared down at him with a blank expression. Jim was about to apologise and straighten himself when the ship lurched again and sent them both flying backwards, right into Jim's bed, where Jim pinned Spock down for a moment. He sat up a little, painfully aware of Spock's body against his, and stared down into his first officer's eyes, and Spock stared right back up at his captain, feeling the heat creep up his neck.

The ship lurched again and Jim rolled off him with a huff, steadying himself against the end of the bed. "What the fuck was that?" Jim yelled, and the ship jerked again, sending him stumbling. Spock sat up and cleared his throat, reaching for Jim but then thinking better of it. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

"It seems-" They were both thrown down again. "It seems," Spock said again, growing frustrated, "Something is attacking the ship."

"Like hell something is attacking the ship," Jim said, personally offended that action dared to happen while he was out of commission. "Kirk to the bridge!"

"A LITTLE BUSY, CAPTAIN," came the terse reply.

"What the hell is going on up there!" Kirk yelled back.

"UNIDENTIFIED VESSEL-" there was another shudder, like the whole ship had just been rammed by something, "FIRING PHASERS AT OUR SHIELDS, CAPTAIN."

"FIRE BACK!" Jim yelled, and Spock resisted the urge to roll his eyes, because honestly, what did Jim think Sulu was doing? Sitting in the Captain's chair twiddling his thumbs and waiting for the unidentified vessel to politely stop doing that, please?

"That's it," Jim said, marching over to the door. "I've had enough of this. I feel fine, I'm going up there and taking control of my ship."

"You are not," Spock said, grabbing the Captain's arm and pulling him back. "You are highly infectious, Captain, and you know it."

"Now's not the time for that, Spock," Jim grinned at him, but there was no real flirtation behind it, just a frustrated starship captain trying to sweet-talk his way out of quarantine.

Spock levelled him with a look that said  _ Captain, you are not doing this _ , or perhaps even  _ over my dead body, _ but Jim turned back around and set to work trying to unlock the door.

"Captain," Spock said. His voice was tense.

"C'mon, Spock, you're good at this tech stuff. Help me," he grumbled at the wires in his hands, "Override the lock on this damn thing."

"You are not going out there," Spock said, growing more frustrated with his stubborn captain. "You are contagious."

"My ship," at these words, the ship shook again, "is being attacked. Commander, it is our responsibility to protect her and our crew."

"Exposing them to the pathogen that has made us both sick will not help the situation in the slightest," Spock told him. "It is interesting to note that it affected both of us, Captain. Who knows what havoc it will wreak on the physiology of someone else? On Gaila? On Lieutenant Az'etan?"

Okay, Jim thought. He had a point, there. It was interesting enough this had managed to infect them both - there was really no telling how it would affect the other members of the crew, especially those from species not previously exposed to similar viruses. Every planet had its equivalent to a cold, to the flu even, but this had been a unique case, Bones had said. Something along those lines.

Still, it wasn't enough to make him see reason.

"I need to get up to the bridge," Jim turned his back on Spock again, yanking a handful of wires out from the door's control panel. Bones had locked it from the outside so it could only be unlocked by his code, but Jim was smart, damn it. Jim could get through this.

"Captain, you leave me no choice," Spock said, and before Jim had a chance to react, Spock's hand was on his shoulder.

"What are you do- oh, you son of a bi-" was as much as Jim got out before he sunk to his knees, consciousness slipping away from him like sand through his fingers. The least thing he saw was Spock's grave expression, staring down at him with a look that was most unimpressed, and almost sorry that it had come to  _ fucking nerve pinching _ him onto the ground.

Jim didn't even have it in him to be furious as he lost consciousness. He just hoped Spock would catch his head before it hit the ground.


	7. Chapter 7

“Did you have to nerve pinch him?”

Bones was sitting on Jim’s bed in his plague doctor suit, watching Jim’s unconscious body on the floor. He hadn’t bothered moving him - hadn’t even tried. Spock had placed a pillow under his head and left him laying where he was, despite the fact they all knew he could easily pick him up and toss him around like a ragdoll. At least he’d cushioned his head. And, as far as the good doctor could tell, he’d made sure Jim didn’t hit the ground any harder than necessary. It seemed like Spock had actually caught him, not that he was going to tell Jim that.

“Affirmative, doctor. I saw no other way to get him to cease his attempts at escape.”

“Okay,” Bones sighed, “I get that, but...did you  _ have  _ to nerve pinch him?”

Spock looked at him with a perfectly even expression. Bones suspected there was a smile hiding under there. The Vulcan did have a sense of humour, for all he claimed his kind didn’t. It just came out at the absolute strangest of times. Like after he’d committed a minor mutiny on their captain.

“Fine. But you’re the one who gets to explain yourself when he wakes up.” Bones lifted his tricorder and gestured for Spock to move closer, studying the readings closely. The Vulcan’s body was making short work of the virus - he was still contagious, for sure, but it seemed like it wasn’t progressing much past an upper respiratory infection. Jim’s readings, on the other hand, were much more concerning. Bones loaded the hypospray and hit him in the neck, leaning back on his heels and considering him for a moment before standing up. Jim was beginning to stir, his eyelids fluttering, mouth twitching as he came out of his unconscious state.

“Captain?” Spock kneeled over him for a second. Jim’s eyes fluttered again before they were open, that bright blue staring right up at Spock with some kind of softness. It only lasted a moment, though, Bones noted, before his eyes narrowed and it was replaced with a sharp glare.

“You fucking nerve pinched me,” Jim said.

“I did,” Spock replied.

“You!” Jim rolled onto his side, pulling himself into a somewhat upright position. “You nerve pinched me!”

Spock looked over at Bones helplessly, almost as though he was saying, _perhaps you should check the captain’s mental faculties_.

“Bones, you let him nerve pinch me?”

“Naw,” Bones drawled, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m leavin’ this one on you to explain, Spock.”

“It was the only logical-” Spock began, but he was cut off but Jim’s finger in his face, pointing right at his nose. Spock went cross-eyed for a moment trying to look at it, and instead shifted his gaze to his captain.

“You nerve pinched me,” Jim said in an even tone, though his face betrayed any guise of pleasantry he was trying to give off. Jim Kirk was, in a word, pissed.

“I ensured you did not facilitate the spread of our virus to the remainder of the ship, Captain,” Spock said.

Jim had a look on his face like he wanted to mimic what Spock had said in an insulting tone, but he refrained, folding his arms across his chest instead. Bones chuckled to himself from his place on Jim's bed and wished only that he had a drink to enjoy while he watched Jim and the hobgoblin verbally wrestle it out. Of course, with the amount of rage that seemed to be surging through Jim at that moment, there was no guarantee they weren't about to wrestle it out the old-fashioned way, too. Yeah, it was a damn shame he didn't have a drink. Or a camera.

"You're my first officer!" Jim exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. "You can't just go around nerve pinching me when we have a disagreement!"

"A disagreement?" Spock asked, and the disdain in his voice was clear. "I may not be able to give you an order, Captain, but I asked - as your first officer - that you stop your actions in attempting to escape our quarantine. You resisted. You refused. I stepped in where I saw fit, as first officer, and did the conduct befitting of my role. You said so yourself, Captain, our duty is to the Enterprise and the people aboard it, and I was not," and at this he straightened, and both Bones and Jim realised just how much he towered over them, "about to allow this ship, or its crew, to become unwell."

At that, Jim deflated, just a little bit. Bones could tell he was still pissed off, but apparently willing to let it slide when Spock called him out on his behaviour. It was strange, he mused to himself. It wasn't like Jim to just let something go, no matter how logical the other party was being.In fact, that was the opposite of Jim.

Bones figured that might be his cue to leave, to let Jim and Spock work this - whatever this was - out for themselves. He needed a chat with Chapel, anyway. She'd long ago jumped on aboard the 'Captain-Kirk-and-Commander-Spock-just-need-to-get-laid-with-each-other' ship, and it was an opinion that a lot of the crew shared. He stood, patting Jim on the back, offering Spock a nod, and reminded them both to keep up their hyposprays, and that he'd be in to check on them tomorrow, short of anything happening, and that they can get him at any time through comms. 

"Bye, Bones," Jim said absentmindedly, and Bones left, shaking his head. Those two knuckleheads needed to work it out for themselves - but God if it would be nice if they could do it a little faster.

When he was back in Sickbay, he took a seat at his desk and stared down at his paperwork, lost in thought. He hoped Jim and Spock would use their remaining four days in quarantine to figure out their issues so they didn’t bring them back up onto the bridge with them. Any time Jim and Spock clashed, and ended up in one of their tense little stand offs where everyone wanted to tell them to just fuck or fight already, things got awkward on the bridge.

"So," Chapel asked him, leaning in the doorway. Her arms were folded across her chest, but she had a knowing grin on her face. She’d cackled madly when he’d told her that Spock had nerve-pinched the captain during the attack on the ship. "Is it too late to get in on that bet?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, pouring himself a whiskey, but she slid him her part of the pool and he made a note of it in the PADD. What Jim and Spock didn't know wouldn't hurt them.


	8. Chapter 8

Jim stared up at the white ceiling, his arms folded across his ever-aching chest.

“I’m still mad at you,” he said. Spock seemed entirely unfazed by this remark. There was a rustle as he flipped to the next page of his book and a slight creak of his mattress as he shifted his weight, settling in more comfortably to read it. “I mean it, Spock. I’m not letting this go.”

“Your behaviour,” Spock began, his voice melodious and calm, “was most ill-”

“If you say illogical, Spock, so help me, I will hit you.”

Spock’s mouth twitched into a slight smile. “No, you will not.”

“I might,” Jim rolled onto his side to look up at his first officer, shoving one hand under his pillow to better support his head.

Spock didn’t reply, remaining focused on his book, but Jim could see the humour in his eyes. Yeah, okay, he was right. Jim wasn’t going to hit him - he would never. But, damn it…

“I can’t believe you fucking nerve pinched me, man. That was a low move.”

“To use a human turn of phrase, Captain - build a bridge.”

Jim gaped at him for a moment, a laugh startled out of him at Spock’s use of the phrase. He laughed and laughed until he started wheezing, and then until it turned into a coughing fit, but he couldn’t help himself - he was really cracked up. Spock left a finger stuck between the pages of his book and turned to the captain, clearly startled by the outburst. Jim held up a hand, wheezing his way between a laugh and a cough, his other hand on his chest as it heaved.

“I’m good,” he managed. Spock gave him one of his famous quirked eyebrows and returned to his book with the slightest shake of his head.

“Are we...also good, Captain?”

“Yeah, Spock.” Jim rolled back into his back, grinning up at the ceiling. “We’re good.”

Spock remained silent, apparently returning to his book. He read voraciously, devouring each book they’d been given in quarantine, to the point where he had even moved on to Jim’s modest collection of novels. He was partway into  _ Little Women _ , even though Jim had since given up on it. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it - on the contrary, he’d read it many times in his youth - it was just that it wasn’t holding his attention. He wanted something new, not a retreat into the well-beloved classics of his formative years. Spock had read  _ Alice  _ twice through in the days they’d been trapped in this isolation room, away from the rest of the ship - Jim didn’t blame him for jumping on the first source of alternate literature the moment he got the chance. Jim, personally, planned on ordering some new books the minute they got out of there, once he was at his desk and could figure out what he wanted. He knew he could just download some new books onto his PADD, but it just wasn’t the same as the feeling of reading an honest to god book, the soft flutter of paper under your fingers, the faint smell of ink, the reassurance of having pages in your hands.

Jim considered Spock for a moment, the gentle curve of his fingers as he turned to the next page. He longed to reach out and take his hand in his, to hold it, to lace his fingers through Spock’s and hold on tight.

He was aware of a heat creeping up his neck that had little to do with his fever, and blushed scarlet, turning away. “Do you think everyone up on the bridge is okay?” he asked, desperate to get his brain onto a new subject.

“Dr McCoy would have told us if anybody had needed anything more than cursory medical care,” Spock said, and it almost sounded like he was trying to reassure Jim. “Lieutenant Sulu kept the situation under his control and, based on the reports, acted admirably in the face of danger.”

“I still can’t believe we got fired on by a slaver’s ship. What were they thinking? We wouldn’t have even noticed them if they hadn’t turned around and attacked.”

“I believe they panicked, Captain,” Spock replied. “Panic accounts for a great deal of the illogical behaviour that can be observed in many species.”

“How many times do I have to ask you to call me Jim?” Jim asked, facing Spock again. “You did it the other day, so I know you can. It’s not hard. You don’t have to call me captain all the time.”

“Perhaps not, Captain, but I will continue to do so as long as we are discussing Starfleet business.”

“We live on a starship, Spock. Everything we do is Starfleet business.”

Spock glanced at him, doing an admirable job of keeping the smirk off his face. “Precisely.”

Jim huffed a laugh and shook his head, deciding to let it slide for now. Spock was - well, he was many things, and he never failed to make Jim smile.

Jim stared at the ceiling again and tried to take stock of his body, of his symptoms. His head had a sharp pain throbbing through it, a deep ache that seemed to be coming from the depths of his skull. It wasn't so bad, considering, but it hurt, and he wanted for it to stop. He wasn't about to admit that aloud, though, nor was he about to reach for the hypospray and hit himself with a dose of the analgesic Bones had left them. He didn't need it, anyway. He could handle a little pain.

Or it would be, if it was the only pain he could feel. The ache in his chest had returned, and were he a more poetic man he would find some metaphor to describe it, something about burning with the force of the sun, because his chest felt uncomfortably like it was burning from the inside out. The all-over body ache had returned, too, dull compared to the pain in his head but no less annoying. It made him wish for sleep, that this may all be over sooner. Maybe, he thought, glancing toward Spock, maybe he could just...sedate himself for the next three days. Sleep his way through the worst of it.

Almost immediately, he dismissed the idea. Not only was it stupid, but it meant he'd get even less time with his first officer, and as much as he was loathe to admit it, being confined in a small space with Spock had given him some perspective on his feelings. Like: he couldn't possibly continue on like this, not indefinitely. Sooner or later, he was going to have to act on them, at the very least decide what to do. Obviously, acting on them - seeking Spock out, telling him the truth - wasn't an option. But he could make the decision to not be beholden to them any longer.

Spock smiled at something in his book, and Jim sighed quietly, because yeah, right. He was going to feel like this for the rest of his goddamn life, at this rate. There was something about Spock's smile that made him feel all warm inside, as ridiculous as that sounded. Perhaps it was because seeing that expression was so rare - Spock might have opened up to Jim a fair bit, allowed him to see the occasional smirk, but those true smiles were still rare as could be. "Are you feeling well, Captain?" Spock asked suddenly, setting the book aside. "You are considerably paler than your usual colour."

Jim didn't feel pale. He actually felt quite warm, too much so. He tried to sit up to assure Spock he was fine and found himself overcome with a wave of dizziness that melted into nausea. He closed his eyes for a moment, head spinning, and hesitated, before replying, "I'm - I don't feel so good."

He sunk back down into the bed, closing his eyes for a moment, and felt Spock move to his side, hesitantly reaching out and touching his face. He found he welcomed the touch, and his eyes fluttered open, staring up into Spock’s dark gaze.

“Your symptoms are worsening rapidly,” Spock said.

Jim’s head spun. He had a feeling he knew why. “I think the hypos have worn off.”

“I’m contacting Dr McCoy,” Spock went to move away, but Jim reached out and grabbed the bottom of his shirt, gripping the material tight in his fist. Spock froze in surprise and looked down at his captain, reaching for his hand before he stopped and drew it away.

“Please don’t,” Jim said. “I...I don’t want him to worry.”

He really didn’t. Bones had enough stress going on with the attack on the ship - who knew how many injuries there had been. Jim was sure, despite Spock’s objections, that there were more injuries than they knew about. Besides, Bones stressed when he worried about Jim, and Jim didn’t want to be a source of stress for the doctor - well, not any more than usual.

“You are being illogical,” Spock said, but he didn’t move towards the comms. In fact, he didn’t move at all. He was waiting for Jim to say something, to do something.

“I’m sure if I just rest for a little while…” Jim trailed off, settling back onto the bed with slow, careful movements. It was fine as long as he was laying down. After a few moments, his head stopped spinning, and breathing became a little easier. Jim nodded to himself, letting his head fall back onto the pillow and taking a deep, rasping breath. Spock’s gaze darkened slightly, but the Vulcan said nothing, taking a seat on the edge of his bed and watching Jim with a heavy look. “I’m fine, Spock.”

“Fine has-”

“Variable definitions, I know, Spock.”

“You say those words more than you realise, Captain.” Spock looked to the ground, as though he was second-guessing himself for saying this, and Jim had never known him to second-guess anything. “You always say you are fine, even when you are not. It speaks volumes about you.”

“Does it, Spock?” Jim held his gaze, and the two men stared into each other’s eyes, each thinking of so many things they wanted to say, but couldn’t.

Jim wanted to say: of course I say I’m fine, no matter how bad things have gotten. Nobody needs to worry if I’m fine. I have a whole ship full of people who rely on me, and they need me to be fine, all the time. I had a mother who broke down on my birthday every year, and she needed me to be fine, too. I had a stepfather who couldn’t care less about me, so it was just easier if I was fine. I have to be fine, Spock, because there’s no other way for me to be.

Spock wanted to say: I know you are not fine, Captain, and as illogical as it is it hurts me when you say you are and I know you aren’t. I want you to be fine. But it’s okay with me if you’re not. You don’t have to be. I understand you have a fear of us leaving you if you’re any less than perfect. I’m not going anywhere, and I never will be.

But neither man knew how to put those abstract and illogical thoughts into words that could be understood.

So they didn’t, and just looked at each other in silence.


	9. Chapter 9

The coughing worsened overnight.

Spock woke many times, opening his eyes to the darkness, to hear the sound of his captain hacking and wheezing, before the soft thump as he collapsed back onto his bed. Occasionally, it would be punctuated by a soft expletive, whispered into the dark. Jim was getting worse, and they both knew it. His breathing had become laboured, slow and heavy, and at one moment when he was asleep there was a dizzying, terrifying moment where that stopped, and Spock couldn’t hear him breathing at all. He’d almost been on his feet, ready to raise the alert, when suddenly Jim had inhaled sharply, and his breathing had returned, sounding just as laborious as before.

Spock lay there in the darkness, eyes cast toward the ceiling, but for all his thoughts he couldn’t see it at all. He listened to Jim breathe and wondered.

He wondered what life would be like without Jim, and came to an almost immediate conclusion: unbearable. It was not, perhaps, the most logical conclusion; he knew in his heart he very well could bear a life without Jim, but there was more to it than that. He did not _want_ to bear a life without Jim in it.

Which made every deep cough from the bed beside him pull at his chest with anxiety. An emotion he would rarely admit to having.

He told himself to pull it together, though in less words. Jim was not dying. He was sick; they were both sick, though now that he thought about it, Spock was sure he hadn’t coughed once that day, aside from clearing his throat. Jim’s condition seemed like it was getting worse, but for all they knew it could be about to improve as his body gave it one last effort and purged the virus from his body. Spock didn’t have a good feeling about it, though. Every time the captain awoke, it sounded like he was having more and more trouble finding air, as though his lungs had up and stopped working. After yet another coughing fit that ended in a string of curse words, Spock had had enough.

“Lights,” he said, and a dim light came on overhead. He rolled over and looked at Jim.

“Hey, Spock,” Jim wheezed.

“Captain.” He felt his blood go cold. Jim’s skin had taken on an unhealthy pallor, sickly white. Under his eyes were heavy, bruise-like marks, and his eyes were bloodshot, rimmed red. In just a few short hours he had deteriorated rapidly. “What can I do?”

“Get me some tea?” Jim asked, and Spock obliged, climbing out of bed and making his way over to the replicator. He made sure it was full of honey, just as the captain liked it, and in the vague hope that what Jim claimed about honey was true, that it would soothe his aching throat and settle the cough down.

“Here,” he handed it over, as Jim sat up in bed. Jim’s face was drawn, looking stressed, closed off. Spock found he could not read the expression on his captain’s face. He did not like that.

“Thanks,” Jim’s voice was raspy, his lips dry. Instinctively, his tongue darted out to lick them, but his mouth was dry, too. He took a sip of his tea and hoped it would help, but as he sipped it, his stomach churned. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but there was no relief in it.

Jim stared down at his cup of tea, lost in thought. Spock was looking at him and - and doing the damn eyebrow thing, again. What was with him and that eyebrow thing, Jim wondered. It only seemed to come out when he thought Jim was being stupid, which, Jim had to admit, was a solid 38% of their time together. It could be worse. He could be doing it all the time they were together. Jim wasn’t sure why he was getting the eyebrow right now, though. As far as he could tell, outside of feeling like he was dying from some stupid alien space-flu, he wasn’t actually doing anything that warranted use of _the look_.

Jim wasn’t going to admit it out loud, but he kind of loved the look.

Actually, fuck it. Maybe it was time to admit some things out loud.

Jim set his cup aside and got to his feet, a little unsteady. He took a few steps away from the bed, aware of Spock now standing behind him, taking a careful step each step he took. He turned around and looked at his first officer, really looked at him, and wondered what it would be like to just - put his feelings out there. After their time in quarantine, his feelings for Spock seemed undeniable. And Spock clearly cared for him, in some way. Probably not the same way, but there was something there, and didn’t he owe it to himself to give it a chance?

Jim could feel the heat on his face and wondered why he was blushing so hard. He didn’t take a moment to consider it was his fever, and that all his feelings bubbling to the surface were the direct result of sickness related delirium. All he could think about was Spock.

Spock, who was looking at him like he was fascinating.

Spock, who was looking at him...like he was being particularly concerning.

“Captain?” Spock asked.

“Spock,” Jim began. His chest was rising and falling so fast. Was he having a panic attack? He didn’t feel like he was having a panic attack. So why couldn’t he breathe? “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“I am listening,” Spock replied. He had fixed Jim with a heavy gaze.

“I-” Jim started to say, before he became aware of the strangest sensation in his face. It was like all the blood was rushing from his head. His vision turned grey on the edges, then got fuzzier, fading slowly. “I don’t - Spock…”

He felt his legs buckle beneath him. He also felt a pair of arms curl around him, catching him before he hit the floor, a hand on his face, tilting his head back to try and look him in the eye, but his vision had vanished completely, his ability to differentiate anything faded and gone. He tried to speak but the words wouldn’t come as everything faded into darkness.

“Jim,” Spock cried, pulling him closer. “Jim!”

Jim didn’t reply, slumping forward into Spock’s arms, his breathing terrifyingly fast and shallow.

“Spock to Medical,” Spock yelled, setting Jim down gently and rolling him onto his side. His fingers brushed Jim’s neck, looking for the steady, reassuring thump of a pulse, and to his immense relief he found it immediately. “Captain Kirk has fallen unconscious.”

“This is McCoy,” came the reply. “I’m coming, damn it. Keep him breathing until I get there.”

“Affirmative,” Spock replied, hesitating over Jim’s still body. He didn’t know whether or not to move him. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long.

Dr McCoy moved quickly, entering the room and immediately kneeling to scan Jim’s body. He swore, and then he did something Spock had never seen the doctor do - he hesitated.

“Doctor?” Spock asked, one hand still on Jim’s shoulder, gripping it tight.

“He’s developed pneumonia,” Bones replied, looking over Jim with his hands clenched into fists. “We have to - get him up on the bed.”

“Understood,” Spock replied, and before Bones could protest he had scooped Jim into his arms, lifting him off the ground with care. Jim’s head lolled onto his chest and he took another horrifying, gasping breath.

Spock clutched him to his chest for a moment, his arms curled protectively around his captain, before he placed him onto the bed with care and stepped back, allowing Bones to step up and do his job. Bones was looking at him with a peculiar look on his face, but he said nothing, loading his hypospray with something and pressing it to Jim’s neck.

“Antibiotics,” he grunted, reaching for the medical kit he’d brought in with him. He rifled through it for a minute, producing what appeared to be some kind of needle. He set about setting up some kind of IV, taping it to the back of Jim’s hand with the utmost care, running the line into a bag of fluids. Dr McCoy had apparently come prepared, as though this had been exactly what he was expecting. Spock didn’t ask.

“Will he be alright, doctor?” Spock asked, hands straight at his sides. McCoy was still looking at him with that peculiar look on his face.

“He will if I have anything to say about it,” Bones replied, readying the hypospray again. He winced a little this time when he placed it against Jim’s neck, and deployed it with a gentle click. Next was the tri-ox hypo, to try and get some air into the man’s poor lungs. He administered that without any trouble.

Jim’s breathing stuttered for a moment, and Spock was at his side, reaching for his untaped hand. Spock didn’t grab it, but instead stopped himself, resting a hand against Jim’s abdomen for a second before pulling away. Bones shook his head; he didn’t have time for Kirk and Spock’s confused, mixed-up feelings. He had a patient to treat, damn it, and according to the tricorder in his other hand, that patient was _not responding_ to treatment.

“Damn it, Jim,” Bones muttered, reaching for the comms. “McCoy to Sickbay. I need one of those portable ventilators to the isolation room, right now. Do not enter the room unless you’re suited up. Leave it outside and I’ll retrieve it.”

There was confirmation on the other end and Bones straightened, leaving the room with a single-minded purpose. He returned with a device in his hands no bigger than his arm, attached to a mask setup and a thin piece of tubing. Spock had never seen one used before - most people didn’t progress that far into sickness that it was required. But Bones moved around Jim with careful, practiced movements, like he had done this a million times. Who knew. Maybe he had.

As he fitted the mask over Jim’s face, Jim’s breath hitched, and the tricorder made a noise of alarm. Bones swore under his breath and started hitting buttons on the ventilator, and Spock watched with a dizzying fear as he got Jim breathing again.

“He stopped breathing,” Bones said, fiddling with the ventilator’s settings. He glanced up to the Vulcan, who was standing there, doing a poor job of hiding the fact he was hyperventilating. “It’s fine, Spock, I promise you he’s going to be fine.”

Spock took a seat on the opposite bed, his hands grasping at the blanket and bunching it up into his fists, giving him something to clutch onto, something tangible and real. He watched as Bones set up the IV fluids properly, as he adjusted the ventilator, as he administered yet another round of hyposprays. At last, he stepped back, and Spock got a proper look at Jim’s pale face, swallowed by the mask that was allowing him to breathe.

He never wanted to see Jim like this again.

It was something he’d gotten used to, in his time on the Enterprise. Jim took risks on missions. He frequented Sickbay more often than any other crew member, more often than a lot of the crew combined. Spock had seen Jim in many states of distress, getting patched up by McCoy. But - but he’d never seen -

He’d never seen him look so weak.

He became aware of a hand on his shoulder and tore his eyes away from Jim’s face to stare into the doctor’s eyes. Bones had reached out to him, however gently, and had levelled him with a look that said a lot without any words.

“He’s going to be alright, Spock,” Bones said, his voice quiet. “I promise you that.”

Spock looked over to Jim’s unconscious body and hoped he was right.


	10. Chapter 10

The tricorder beeped softly at him from its place at Jim’s side, monitoring his vital signs. Without a biobed, they hadn’t really had any other option, so the tricorder was standing in as a heart rate monitor, a pulse oximeter, and a thermometer, collecting the data quietly and sending it off to Sickbay as it needed, where Dr McCoy could monitor the readings and Jim’s condition without exposing himself to the pathogen. The ventilator worked quietly away, doing most of Jim’s breathing on his behalf, whooshing softly with each breath the captain took. The bag of IV fluids was draining steadily, the second bag they’d attached to his line, because Jim had been horrifically dehydrated when McCoy had last checked. His body needed as much fluid as it could take in order to recover. There was medicine in there, too - a steady infusion of antibiotics flowing into Jim’s system, taking over where his immune system had failed him. There was still a fully loaded hypospray on the bedside table, ready to be used every four hours as Spock had been instructed by the doctor. He knew it frustrated McCoy that he couldn’t come in here and do it himself, do it properly, without getting sick himself, but Spock was a dedicated stand-in, ready and willing to do whatever it took to heal Jim, to get him better.

Jim remained in his unconscious state. They had given him a mild sedative to keep him asleep for longer. The doctor insisted his body needed the rest, needed the time to heal, and Spock couldn’t find it in him to disagree. Jim was always going at a pace unlike anyone else - it was bound to catch up with him eventually, and it seemed like it finally had. His body needed time to recover, and they were ensuring that he got it, even if that had required a little in the way of chemical assistance. There was the occasional sign he was nearing consciousness - a mumbled phrase, a twitch of the fingers - but his eyes remained stubbornly closed, and all Spock could do was watch him, and wait.

Spock sat cross-legged on the bed opposite Jim, watching him in silence. The steady beep of the tricorder lulled him into a meditative state, but he could not achieve true clarity, true mindfulness while he sat beside the comatose body of his captain. He had the utmost confidence in the level of medical care that Dr McCoy provided the both of them, and knew that for Jim especially he would go above and beyond, but this did little to alleviate him of the worries that crossed his mind while he tried to meditate. Worries about Jim, about Jim's state of being...worries about if Jim would wake up. He would - he had to - but the idea that he couldn't sent a jolt of ice-cold fear through Spock's heart. He knew logically Jim was going to be fine. But this feeling of helplessness, it had no logic behind it. It was simply there, and no amount of meditating would make it go away. He tried time and again to clear his mind, but all these thoughts brought him back to one thing, to the most important thing - to Jim.

Spock straightened his posture as he watched Jim, and eventually brought his knees to his chest, hugging them close to his body, mimicking the posture he had seen the captain take many times while in deep consideration. It brought him some measure of comfort, though he couldn't explain why if he had been asked. He wanted to talk to the Captain, even though he knew whatever he said would be falling upon deaf ears as long as the captain was not conscious. Still, he had been told many times that humans believed a person in a less-than-conscious state could still hear that which was said to them, even if it was not at the forefront of their mind. He had been told it was believed it helped them heal, and there was nothing more he wanted right now, so he figured it was worth a shot.

"Jim," he said quietly, and Jim stirred. He looked up hopefully, but Jim simply twitched in his sleep, and did not move again, his breathing slow and steady. Spock put his head down and exhaled slowly. Perhaps this was a stupid idea. He had nothing worth saying to his captain, anyway. Nothing the captain would want to hear.

Spock spied his copy of Alice sitting on the end of the bed. He picked it up and thumbed through the well-read pages, gentle as he could, because this book was important to him. He picked a page at random and began to read aloud to Jim, not knowing what else to do.

The story of Alice in Wonderland was one he had drawn a great amount of comfort from as a child; he hoped the familiar words would offer some comfort to Jim, even if it may only be subconscious. Perhaps just the sound of Spock's voice would remind the Captain there was a whole world, a whole ship waiting for him to wake up, and that he needed to make his way back to them as soon as he possibly could.

“ _I_ _could tell you my adventures - beginning from this morning,' said Alice a little timidly: 'but it's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.'_ ”

Spock stopped, and read the passage again. The words rang true to him. Things had changed so much for him in the time he had known Jim. Who could have thought this incredibly frustrating, illogical, stubborn, intelligent, confident person would someday become one of the most important people in his life? He would never have guessed it himself - if he were prone to it, he might have laughed in someone’s face if they had told him. He would have laughed in his own face if his future self had told him.

Jim mumbled something in his sleep and tried to pull away from the mask on his face, but it remained affixed there, keeping his breathing steady. Spock paused, setting Alice aside for a moment and folding his hands in his lap, watching Jim. He glanced around and, remembering there was no one there to see him, he reached out and took Jim’s hand in his, and held in gently, running his thumb over the smooth skin. He stared down at their hands for a moment, at the line running fluids into Jim’s bloodstream, but he could not bring himself to let him go.

“Captain,” he whispered, emboldened in knowing no one would hear him. “Please wake up. I cannot do this without you...and I do not want to.”

Jim’s face twitched under the mask, but he did not wake. Spock closed his eyes and sighed, letting his hand fall free, and sat back, clenching his hands into fists. This needless anxiety was getting to him. Quarantine was almost over, or it would be soon. As soon as Jim had recovered, they were both free to go again. It was hard to believe it had been ten days since they’d had their fateful mission to Seland VI that had brought them both home with this virus. They were so close to their freedom...all Jim had to do was recover. He had to. For Spock’s - for the ship’s sake. They needed him.

Spock needed him.

Spock settled back on his bed and closed his eyes, exhaling slowly as he tried to slip back into a meditative state. There was no use in thinking these thoughts, in willing the Captain to wake before he was ready. There was nothing that could be done. At this point, it was up to Jim - and the wonders of modern medicine - on if he would pull through okay.

He had to. There was nothing more to it.

Spock allowed himself to be pulled into a trance, his mind wandering to the last time he had felt this much anxiety at the prospect of losing someone. He dismissed the thoughts from his mind and tried to let them go, but the feelings continued to nag at him, to cross the path of his thoughts and lead him astray. He instead tried to focus on the feelings that kept him whole, and was surprised with a jolt to find the feeling that brought him the most peace in that moment was love. Love for his captain.

Instead of dismissing it, he decided to meditate on these feelings further, so that he may understand them. He knew he loved the Captain - they all loved the Captain - but this seemed to be something deeper, something more significant. In a moment he found himself pulling away from those thoughts, those feelings. He wasn't ready to face them. Not yet.

Except...if this was the last moment he ever had with Jim, wouldn't he want him to know? Wouldn't he want his feelings to be known, understood, and - he hoped - reciprocated?

The risk was too high they would not be, he decided. He was better off keeping it to himself.

The tricorder's beeping sped up slightly and his eyes snapped open. Jim was stirring again, and this time he reached up and grabbed at the mask on his face, his eyes widening with fear. Spock was at his side in a moment, grabbing his hands and pulling them away, holding them tight. Careful not to jostle the IV line. Jim's breathing had hitched up and quickened, his chest heaving. He looked up at Spock, still looking small and afraid under his mask. Spock reached down and adjusted it gently, so it was sitting more snugly against his face.

"Don't try to speak, Jim," he said, and now that he was sure Jim wouldn't rip the mask from his face or the IV from his hand, he let his hands go, and stepped back, bringing his arms behind his back. "You collapsed after developing pneumonia. Your mask is enabling you to breathe easily. The intravenous line is to replenish fluids and maintain a steady stream of antibiotics into your system. You will need another day or two to recover completely, but I believe it is a good sign that you have awoken. I must notify Dr McCoy immediately."

He went to grab his PADD, but Jim reached out and grabbed his arm instead. He didn't say anything, he just held on, staring up at Spock with those blue eyes. After a few moments, he nodded, and let Spock go, and the Vulcan turned away, reaching for his PADD to message Bones.


	11. Chapter 11

Jim was up and about again the next day like he hadn’t almost succumbed to pneumonia just eighteen hours beforehand. It was a relief to see him without the ventilator, though the IV line still ran into the back of his hand. He looked to be in much better spirits, though he was still pale, still not quite one hundred percent.

He picked absentmindedly at the tape on the back of his right hand, annoyed at the itch the IV left him with. He could feel it under his skin, and it was hard to resist the urge to rip it out. He scratched along one side of it and fidgeted, stopping only when Spock reached out and grabbed his hand, catching it before he tore the tape away. He looked up at the Vulcan and smiled weakly, letting go of his hand and settling back into the bed. Spock had been quiet since he had awoken. They had exchanged barely more than ten words between each other, and he didn’t know what to make of it. 

Spock looked at the captain longingly from across the room. He had never felt like this about someone before - he had loved, he had cared deeply, but he was beginning to realise after seeing Jim limp in his arms, half-dead, that this was a different beast altogether. He wished there was somebody who he could discuss this emotion with; he wished for his mother. It was a pointless thing to wish for, but in this moment, he wanted nothing more than to speak with her. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to return his mind to the path of logic, to reason, but when he opened them again and caught Jim staring at him he knew it was a pointless endeavour.

When he caught Jim's eye, the other man blushed and looked away, as though he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. Spock had no idea that in that moment Jim was mentally kicking himself for being such an idiot and almost confessing his feelings before he had collapsed. They both knew the discussion would have to come up again at some point - Spock would ask, or Jim would bite the bullet and bring it up. He wouldn't yet, though. He had pneumonia! He had almost died! He felt he was granted a little bit of leeway on the _serious discussion I don't want to have just yet_ department. Jim looked to the floor, lost in thought. It had been so long since they were quarantined, it felt like an eternity. It would almost be strange to go back to the routine of the ship after this. It would be strange to wake up and not find Spock there, sipping at his tea and reading. It would be strange to not have a nightly chess match before bed. He had grown used to Spock's companionship, and found himself wistful for it already, even though they were still together for at least another few hours. Bones was supposed to be coming in to clear Spock for duty soon enough. Jim hoped he would be cleared too, but - he picked at the tape holding his IV in again - he didn't expect it would be so soon. He was still recovering, even though he felt miles better than he had the day before, and a whole world away from how he'd felt the day before that. He was over quarantine, had been since day five, but he really would miss the company of his first officer. And sure, they would still see each other on every shift, they would still play chess, they would still hang out occasionally and save each other a seat at movie night, but...Jim didn't want to go back to that. This had been like an almost-glimpse into what he could have, and he wanted it. He wanted it so bad. He wanted to wake up every morning with Spock at his side. He wanted to make him plomeek soup and watch him almost-smile when he took the first sip. He wanted to talk to him until they both fell asleep, get every thought that ran through his head like it was a precious gem he was lucky enough to find. Jim wanted all of that...and more. He looked over at the Vulcan again, sitting straight, his eyes closed, and he sighed to himself. He didn't know what to say, what to do. So it was better to push the feelings back down and pretend they were never there to begin with, even if it did hurt like hell.

He turned his head to the side and coughed suddenly, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. When he opened them again, Spock was sitting up, looking at him with alarm in his eyes.

"Captain?" Spock asked.

"I'm okay," Jim said, clearing his throat. "Just some residual...congestion."

Spock didn't relax, but kept looking at Jim with that look on his face. Jim found Spock pretty easy to read sometimes. This was not one of those times.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Captain?" Spock asked him, pulling himself forward so he was sitting on the edge of his bed.

Yeah, Spock, Jim thought. There are a lot of things you could do for me.

"Nope," he said with fake cheer. It was hard to muster up enthusiasm, but hey, he was sitting here thinking about all the things he wanted his first officer to do for him - he must have been feeling better.

Spock was regarding him with some suspicion in his eyes, but he said nothing, choosing instead to change the subject. "I believe Dr McCoy is going to clear me for duty today."

"I hope so," Jim replied. "I know that this was difficult for you."

"I had good company," Spock replied. He glanced down at the IV line still pimping fluids and antibiotics into Jim. He didn't remark on it, though it looked like he had something to say. "Captain, the past two weeks have been...adequate."

What high praise, Jim thought. "Adequate, Spock?"

"Yes. If I were to be in this situation again, I cannot think of anybody I would rather be quarantined with."

"Oh," was all Jim managed to say in reply. Spock was looking almost pained now, like Jim was being intentionally stupid. "Me too, Spock. You're much better company than I think Sulu would be."

Spock closed his eyes. "Captain," he said slowly, "I feel this time together has fostered a greater sense of closeness between us."

Jim's brain was practically shorting out, because he wanted this to be real so bad, he wanted what Spock was saying to be - well, what he wanted it to be. "I only walked in on you in the bathroom once," he joked, trying to break the tension. "And I saw nothing, for what it's worth."

Spock looked down. Had he miscalculated? He thought - well, he had thought that the captain had been going to tell him - he pressed his lips into a thin, hard line and tried to mentally shrug it off. Perhaps the captain was not ready for this conversation. He glanced over to where the other man was giving him a cautious smile, and he managed a weak approximation of a smile in return. Perhaps it wasn’t the right time. Jim was still recovering, after all. But after seeing him like that...Spock didn’t want to lose the chance to tell him again.

There was a soft beep from the door before it slid open, revealing Leonard McCoy, dressed in his blue, form-fitting Starfleet uniform...and nothing else. No plague doctor suit. Not even a facemask. He grinned at the two of them as he walked in, medical kit in hand.

“Bones!” Jim said, sitting up straight.

“Jim,” Bones replied, still grinning. He looked between the two of them. “Am I interrupting?”

“No,” Spock said, folding his hands in his lap. “Not at all, Dr McCoy.”

“I’m here to officially clear you for duty,” Bones said, setting the bag down on the bed beside Spock. “You,” he turned to Jim, pointing at him, “aren’t going to be cleared for at least another day. I’m keeping you in here, too. I don’t want you wandering the ship and collapsing again, scaring the hell out of some poor ensign.”

“Come on, Bones,” Jim said. “Spock gets his freedom but I’m stuck here?”

“Damn right you are,” Bones laughed. “I know you missed it ‘cause you were out cold, but you collapsed, Jim. You’re lucky I took the mask off. You’re gonna stay in here until I say you can leave, understood?”

“The doctor’s logic is sound,” Spock remarked. “It would be...discouraging if you were to become ill again.”

“Fine,” Jim grumbled. He stole a glance at Spock, and just as quickly looked away, focusing on the back of his hands while Bones pulled out a tricorder and started checking the Vulcan over.

“Your pulse is a little fast,” he said, checking the readings again.

“Is it?” Spock asked. “I am sure it is just - excitement. Over the prospect of leaving quarantine.”

Bones was squinting at him like he didn’t quite believe Spock, but he let it go, pulling out his PADD and using a stylus to scribble something on it. He held both the PADD and the stylus out to Spock, and Spock accepted it, scribbling his signature down the bottom of the screen.

“There we go,” Bones said. “Mr Spock, you are officially cleared for duty. You may leave this room whenever you like.”

“Thank you,” Spock said, standing. He straightened his shirt and walked over to the table, gathering his things slowly and depositing them in the box that had sat there for the past ten days. Clothing folded neatly, books placed in order, and his lyre sitting on top, all neatly and perfectly arranged so the box could be easily carried back to his quarters. He lifted the box with ease, and looked back to the doctor and the captain, offering the latter the hint of a smile.

“Doctor McCoy,” he nodded to Bones. He met Jim’s gaze and held it for a moment. “Jim.”

“See you later, Spock,” Jim managed. Spock gave him a curt nod and stepped through the door, gaze lingering on Jim for the moment it took it to close behind him. Jim closed his eyes and sighed, half wanting to smack himself in the face. He should have just told him, damn it. This was getting ridiculous.

“Are you sure I didn’t interrupt something there, kid?” Bones asked, his arms folded across his chest. He was giving Jim one of his most dadliest looks, the stern-but-fair look Jim got when he thought there was something the captain wasn’t telling him.

“Nope.”

“Jim.”

“Bones.”

Bones rolled his eyes. “You two think you’re being coy, but I hope you realise y’all are the two most obvious idiots on this whole damn ship.”

“Shut up, Bones,” Jim said, but there was no malice behind it. The doctor had given him his opinion on Jim’s feelings a time or two, mostly when they were drunk and he was trying to prod Jim into action. He’d never been so outright as to say _I know you’re in love with your first officer and the whole ship knows it too_ , but he’d never been far off it. He looked like he was about to say something to that effect then, but he kept his mouth shut, shaking his head at him.

“You’re gonna have to tell him eventually,” Bones finally said, after a minute of silence had passed. “I think you’d be surprised as to the reaction you’ll get.”

“Shut up, Bones,” Jim said again, but he gave his doctor a tired grin. “Maybe I’d like to be given a clean bill of health, first.”

“You would,” Bones looked down at the tricorder. “Unfortunately, Jim, I don’t see any foolin’ around in your near future. You’ve gotta get better first.”

“Bones,” Jim groaned, giving the doctor a playful punch in the arm with the hand that didn’t have an IV line sticking out of it. The two men shared a smile, and Bones shook his head, grinning at the idiot he called his best friend. They’d get there. They had to.


	12. Chapter 12

He wasn’t discharged until late the next evening, after Bones had finished his shift in the medical bay. He’d been taken off the antibiotics that morning and it was a tangible relief to no longer be hooked up to an IV line, something he swore up and down he’d be grateful for forever. He’d complained a little at Bones, and got told if he kept it up, he’d be getting medicine the old fashioned way - “when they still beat the pneumonia out of your lungs, Jim” - and not with tricorders and hyposprays. At that, he’d decided he would never complain about a hypospray again. (Or at least, not in front of Bones for the next month or so.)

He wandered the halls of the ship, realising for the first time just how stiff he was after almost two weeks in isolation. He’d been so sick he hadn’t so much as stretched, let alone exercised, and his joints were telling him about it now. He groaned and lengthened his stride, knowing that it was better to work the stiffness out now than to ignore it and head straight for his quarters. He was taking the long way, box tucked under his arm, enjoying the long trip back up from medical. He wasn’t contagious any more, so he didn’t have to worry any time he felt an errant cough come on. He smiled at everyone he passed, got a few _hellos_ , a few _good to see you, Captains_ , even a high-five from a skinny little ensign with her hair in two long braids. It was good to see his crew again. It was good to be out and about.

He hadn’t realised how much he missed this, but guiltily he found he missed something else more - Spock. As soon as he got back to his quarters, he was going to use his comms to get his first officer to come over for a chess game, catch up on how the ship had been in his absence. Spock had a whole day to adjust, after all. Jim envied him that.

He wasn’t surprised to find the hallway that led down to his quarters was empty; it often was. The rooms on either side were unoccupied. In fact, the closest was Spock’s, a short walk away, but far enough. He passed by Spock’s door and resisted the urge to stop, instead powering on until he reached his door. He keyed in his code and waited for the doors to open, the box resting on his hip, and he breathed an audible sigh when he caught sight of his room, just as he’d left it, and stepped inside.

Jim was so relieved to see his quarters again. He threw himself onto the bed, hugging it, burying his face in his pillow. What a relief it was to see it again, instead of those stupid Starfleet-issued pillows they’d had down in the isolation room. What a relief it was to feel the soft top of his mattress again. To see his armchair, his books, his table. Jim felt like he’d finally come home after a long time away. 

There was a chime at his door, and he rolled onto his side, calling “Enter!”, still sprawled across the bed. The door slid open and he found Spock standing on the other side, his hands clasped in front of him. Jim immediately sat up and straightened, clearing his throat, tugging down his shirt where it had rode up.

“Captain,” Spock greeted him.

“Commander,” he replied. And then, unable to help himself, he said, “Did you miss me already?”

Spock said nothing, but made heavy use of the eyebrow.

“Were you expecting someone else?” Spock asked, nodding to the bed. Jim felt the heat of a blush creeping up his neck.

“No - no,” he replied, rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. “I just, you know. I missed my room.”

“I apologise for intruding on your time, then.” Spock looked to the ground. “I found that I, too, was relieved to see my own quarters again.”

“You’re not intruding!” Jim said. “Please. Come in. What did you want to talk about?”

And at that, Spock froze. Full on deer-in-the-headlights look - and Jim knew, he’d seen that look plenty. He was looking at Jim like he didn’t know what to do, and almost like he was about to make a hasty escape back out the door and down into the depths of the ship. However, Spock was not a coward, and he seemed to straighten himself, step forward, and allow the door to close behind him.

“Captain,” he said, and then he stopped, his eyes downcast. “Jim.”

Jim felt his pulse quicken in his throat, his heart pounding away beneath his ribcage. Spock only ever called him Jim when it was something serious - so what could have brought him to Jim’s room so late, after he had just been released from quarantine? What could he want to discuss that they couldn’t have already talked about? Was he about to give Jim his resignation? Jim’s mind was blind with panic.

“Yes?” he managed.

“I came here tonight because I have something I wish to say to you.”

He’s gonna leave, Jim thought. He’s had enough of the Enterprise and the staff and the missions and me, he hates it here, he hates it and he’s going to leave-

“I,” Spock continued, when it became obvious Jim was not going to speak again, as he was a little busy having a goddamn panic attack, “I wish to discuss our relationship.”

“Our - our relationship?” Jim stammered. Oh, so it was just him Spock hated, then. Not the whole ship. Getting locked in quarantine for ten days with someone could make you realise your true feelings for someone, and evidently, Spock had decided that he’d had enough of Jim and his bullshit.

Spock wordlessly closed the gap between them and pressed his lips to Jim’s. Jim sunk into the kiss, reaching up to grab Spock’s face, to kiss him back. The world seemed to stand still for those moments that Spock’s face was against his, that Spock’s lips were on his, that Spock was holding him with so much care and attentiveness. Jim deepened the kiss, opening his mouth just a little, and Spock leaned in like he couldn’t get enough of it. Spock’s arms circled around his waist, pulling him closer, and it was at that moment that Jim’s brain finally stopped shorting out and he had something close to a rational thought again.

“Hold up,” he stopped kissing Spock long enough to look him up and down, but he didn’t remove his hands from Spock’s face. “When you say relationship, you mean...relationship?”

“Yes,” Spock replied, going to lean in again. Jim pulled back just a little, grinning.

“You like me,” Jim teased.

“Yes,” Spock’s voice was getting terse. “Was I wrong in assuming you feel the same?”

At that, Jim leaned in and kissed him again. This time when Spock pulled him closer, he didn’t pull away, one hand sliding to the back of Spock’s head, his fingers slipping between strands of perfect dark hair. They remained in a passionate embrace for several minutes, relishing this moment where it seemed, finally, their feelings had risen to the surface. Jim was grateful for his first officer’s tenacity, that one of them had finally stepped up and done something about the simmering tension between them. Spock was the one to pull away first thing time, resting a hand on Jim’s chest, over his pounding heart.

“You need to rest, Jim.” 

“I’m fine.”

“No,” Spock levelled him with one of his looks. “You are still recovering. You are going to get an adequate amount of rest. We can discuss this further in the morning.”

At that, he kissed Jim one last time, hard, passionate, and full of something, some unnamed emotion Jim couldn’t recognise, even if he tried. It was something that sparked between them, something almost tender, something kind. He gave him a nod, like he did as first officer to his captain, and left, leaving Jim standing in his room, alone. Jim swayed on his feet for a moment, and when the door closed, he leaned against it, closing his eyes and brushing his lips with his fingertips, unable to keep the smile from his face. He slid down the door, sitting on the floor, one hand over his heart, which was still pounding away in his chest, but for entirely different reasons. Spock had kissed him. He had kissed Spock. He grinned to himself, laughing a breathless laugh, unable to believe what had happened.

The smile didn’t leave his face for the rest of the night, not even when he finally crawled into bed and drifted off to sleep, his hand over the warm glow in his chest.


	13. Chapter 13

The turbolift hummed with its usual vibration as it took Jim up from his quarters to the mess, and he stood inside it silently, his brain still too sleep-addled to consider anything. His PADD was tucked under his arm, full of reports and forms he needed to read and sign off on, including Sulu's logs from the ten days he had been sick. He had read everything so far, he just hadn't had the presence of mind this early in the morning to get any of the work done. He was in dire need of a coffee, and that was exactly what he was heading for.

He stepped off the turbolift quietly, nodding to a few of the crewmen who walked by, and headed straight for the replicators. He resisted the urge to lean against it when he mumbled "coffee, extra sugar" at it, and he was relieved when exactly that appeared. He drank the first coffee standing right there, swallowing it down in a few mouthfuls, and requested a second one with a slice of toast.

He munched on his toast as he headed back to the turbolift, coffee in hand. He hadn't slept well the night before, waking up continuously with dreams that he was choking under a ventilator, that he was swimming in wires and cables and trapped under an IV line. The dreams hadn't made a lick of sense, but he figured he was warranted a few weird dreams here and there, especially after he almost died from pneumonia. He suspected he hadn't been in any danger at all - he had, after all, the best doctor in the fleet - but it was funny to think. Spock had been so...worried. And that was weird enough. He had done a lot of thinking about that, in between dreams last night. Spock had been so stoic and quiet and worried.

He stepped back into the turbolift and hit a button to take him up to the bridge. It stopped only once on the way up there, on the floor his quarters were on. The door slid open, revealing Spock, looking handsome in his Starfleet uniform, his hair neatly combed into placed, his dark eyes warm and inviting. He stepped into the lift and it started up again. Jim reached over and stopped it before it made it to the bridge.

"Good morning, Captain," Spock said, his head turning to Jim. "I trust you slept well?"

"Well enough," Jim lied, because one of the reasons he'd kept waking was that he couldn't stop thinking about his first officer. About their kiss. "I wanted to talk to you before we start our shift."

"Can this not wait until tonight?" Spock asked. "I feel I said what I had to stay last evening."

"You didn't say anything, Spock," Jim laughed. "I mean, you got your point across, but there wasn't a whole lot of talking."

The corner of Spock's mouth twitched up into a smile. "Perhaps not. But I feel I have communicated everything I needed to communicate to you."

"I would like us to talk, still. For my own peace of mind."

"Very well. What do you wish to say, Captain?"

"I have feelings for you," Jim said.

"That much was evident." Spock didn't laugh, but it seemed like he was going to. Jim almost wanted to protest - he was meant to be the cocky one! - but he liked this look on the Vulcan, this confidence. It was hot.

"And I would like you to know I'm in for whatever this is." Jim gestured between them, pink colouring his cheeks. Whatever it was - he wasn't sure he could name it, but he liked it. Their ten days together had made some things really obvious. Well, obvious to Spock, anyway. Jim had still been clueless right up until Spock had kissed him senseless.

"Would you like clarity on whatever this is?" Spock asked.

"Very much so, yes."

"I believe - I believe the human term is that you are now my boyfriend, Captain."

Jim laughed, because it sounded so strange and formal when it came out of Spock's mouth. "What's the Vulcan term?"

Spock gave him a look, and didn't bother replying, leaning forward and pressing the button so the lift would start moving again. Jim stood on his toes for a moment and kissed Spock on the cheek. The Vulcan ducked his head and smiled, straightening himself before the turbolift doors opened. Jim stood to attention, but he couldn't keep the grin from his face as the door slid open. It was a palpable relief to see the bridge for the first time in eleven days, and as he stepped out of the lift, his grin only widened.

"Keptin on the bridge!" Chekov called out, and everyone turned to look at him, smiles brightening most of their faces. Chekov high-fived him as he walked past, and Sulu clapped him on the back, laughing. Uhura shot him a smile from her place at the communications post. Jim grinned as he took his place on the captain's chair, settling onto it with a smile. Spock stood at his right hand side, arms tucked behind his back, face entirely neutral and business like, but the tips of his ears were flushed with a tinge of green. Jim grinned, feeling the heat creep up his neck. Maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if there were more kisses and conversations in the turbolift, especially when they got a reaction like that out of Spock. Nobody would notice their absence - and even if they did, Jim found he didn't particularly care.

“You’re looking happy this morning, Captain,” Sulu grinned over at him. Jim shrugged, suddenly bashful. He wasn’t one to kiss and tell. Never had been.

“I had a good night,” was all he said. Sulu’s grin turned to smirk.

“Yeah, you did. Gets out of quarantine and the first thing our captain does is get some.”

“Some what?” Chekov asked, as the others laughed.

“Careful, or I’ll write you up, lieutenant,” Jim said, but there was no real threat behind the words. He shot Sulu a cheeky grin, aware of Spock’s presence behind him.

Spock’s presence at his side was reassuring. Jim took a sip of his forgotten coffee, wrinkling his nose when he realised it had gone cold. He couldn’t be bothered going to reheat it himself, and he didn’t want to send Chekov or one of the other ensigns to do it. Spock probably would, but he needed to get to his station and start doing his work, and Jim wasn’t going to start asking for favours this early. Better to save those for later.

"Captain," Spock said quietly, and his hand brushed Jim's shoulder for just a moment. "I am going to my station to complete a report, and reexamine the readings for this section of space."

"Sure," Kirk replied, resisting the urge to add the word  _ honey  _ on the end. He did let his hand brush against Spock's fingertips for just a moment before the Vulcan turned away and got to work. He took another sip of his coffee and realised Uhura was staring at him. He raised an eyebrow at her, an unspoken question between them, but she didn't bother saying anything, just rolled her eyes and got back to work checking the subspace frequencies for incoming communications. Jim looked away, not quite meeting her gaze. Uhura had already figured it out, and he wasn't even sure he'd figured it out completely. That was Nyota, though. She was perceptive.

It dawned on Jim suddenly that this, whatever it was - Spock being his boyfriend, and oh how lovely that was to think and say to himself - that with this, at some point he was going to have to come to an explanation for the admiralty. It wasn't unheard of for captains and their first officers to fall in love - look at Chris Pike and Number One - and lord knew relationships between officers were not uncommon, even if they were actively discouraged. Jim and Spock were the golden boys of Starfleet, though. Either they'd get away with it - and Jim hoped they would - or Starfleet would make an example of them, double down on the regulations to prove a point that this was never going to be accepted. It wasn't like they would be unprofessional about it, and if anything, Jim was of the opinion that the bond between him and Spock made them work even better together. Besides, he was sure of his ability to keep things strictly professional. Probably. He glanced over to where his first officer was sneaking a look at him. Mostly professional, then. They'd do their best.

Jim swiped through a few notes on his PADD and realised he needed the I25-9J form he'd left on his desk in his quarters. He sighed, because it was one of the few forms that remained in paper copies, with proper signatures from those involved required. Why his crew couldn't resolve their disputes without involving command he didn't know, but this was apparently due to a longrunning argument between two of his - well, Spock's - science officers who had come to hate each other. As much as Jim liked to think life on the Enterprise was all sunshine and roses for his crew, these sorts of things still cropped up occasionally. And now one of them was requesting a transfer to another vessel.

Jim got up, stretching. "Spock," he called. "You're in charge until I get back. I've just got to grab something."

"Affirmative, Captain," Spock replied, though he didn't make a move. Jim grinned at him and stood, making his way over to the turbolift, taking his empty coffee cup with him. Uhura followed, her long, lithe legs enabling her to catch up with him in a few strides. She waited until the turbolift door had slid shut before she spoke, though.

"Captain," she said seriously. And then, "Jim."

"Lieutenant Uhura," he replied. "Nyota."

"I just wanted to congratulate you,"she said, with just the hint of a smile playing on her lips.

"Oh?" Jim feigned innocence.

"Yes. Well done on finally acting on your feelings for Commander Spock. The crew is relieved your time in quarantine was apparently productive, to say the least."

Jim stood there, slightly flabbergasted that of all people, it was Uhura who had first offered him congratulations. Eventually, he said, "It wasn't me that made the first move."

"It wasn't?" Uhura laughed, and oh, she had such a clear peal of laughter, it rang beautifully, filling the lift with its sound.

"Yes. Commander Spock and I spoke in my quarters last night. While I was busy feeling sorry for myself, he took it upon himself to...well. Make a move."

"Spock always does go for what he wants," Uhura smiled at him. He smiled back, only for his grin to drop when the expression on her face became deadly serious.

"I have to warn you," she said, folding her arms and turning to face him. "I care very deeply for Spock, Jim. So if you hurt so much as a hair on his head..."

Oh, Lord, Jim thought. Nyota Uhura is giving me a good old fashioned dad-on-the-porch-with-shotgun speech. What did I do to deserve this? I thought I escaped that when I escaped the girls in Iowa.

"I have no intention of ever hurting him," Jim said. Quietly, he confided in her, "I don't have any intention of ever letting him go."

"Good," Uhura replied as the lift stopped on Jim's floor. He stepped off it, going to his quarters, giving Uhura a wave as the door closed behind him. Trust Uhura to be the one to give him that speech. He didn't know where she was off to, but he imagined it was probably back to the bridge to talk to Spock. The two of them had remained very close after their break up - it would make some people insecure, but he honestly liked it. It was good Spock had somebody he cared for, somebody he could confide in.

He had Bones, after all. It was a little different - okay, a lot different - but he thought it was important for them both to have people to turn to, and he was happy Spock had Uhura. He shook his head to clear his mind of his thoughts, and approached his door, keying in the code to enter.


End file.
